Sweetness In the Still
by darthsydious
Summary: There are times Sherlock does not mind the quiet that permeats 221b. Sherlolly.


221b was quiet. Ordinarily, Sherlock detested it. Any sort of noise was a welcome distraction from the chaos in his head. The most pleasing distraction was that of his daughter, his and Molly's. Charlotte was just two, and a very active little girl, happy to get her little hands on anything she could. When not on a case, Sherlock was educating her on the finer points of deducting people, blood coagulation and splatter patterns and other things his parents would probably say were not appropriate for babies. So would Molly, come to think of it. Molly.

Speaking of…

The reason 221b was so quiet was because of her at this moment. She'd been on her feet for almost twenty-four hours straight. A terrible accident had left a busload of people dead, dozens of families broken, and Molly having to see every single one of them come to identify their loved ones, the ones that could be identified, that is. One of the deceased had been pregnant, almost full-term. The husband had come, and Molly heeded his request to see his wife one last time. He'd shuffled out, pale as a sheet, shaking and eyes blank. Another doctor came and led him away. Sherlock had seen on the news the accident and turned it off, knowing Molly would be late home, and it would do no good for Charlotte to see such disturbing images. Instead he distracted her with stories and games until dinner. He texted Molly intermittently, if she would be home, what she needed and so on. She replied around midnight. The second shift had not come in, the way to Barts was blocked off and there were too many bodies needing autopsies, to be identified. Molly couldn't leave yet. She got home sometime around four in the morning; Mycroft had sent a car, knowing she needed it. Charlotte was fast off, so Sherlock hurried quietly down the stairs to the entryway. Molly sat tiredly on the floor, still holding her purse, legs stretched out before her, not ready to go up yet. Tugging his robe around his person, he hitched up his trousers, coming to sit beside her. Wordlessly, she rested her head against his shoulder. Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He felt her sigh, and then after a moment, her shoulders curled, and her mouth twisted into a frown. She began to sob, unable to muffle her voice. Tugging her purse out of her hands, he drew her close, soothing her.

After she'd cried herself out, he brought her upstairs, undressing her as soon as the door was shut. Anthea had texted him when the car had dropped Molly off, so he'd been able to draw a bath. Reaching the bathroom, he guided her towards the bath. Too numb to speak, she let him finish undressing her, step into the hot water and sink down, neck pressed against the cool porcelain. Slowly, Sherlock pouring cups of water over her scalp and back, she began to feel alive again. He was aware she'd showered at Barts, but disliked the soap kept there. The bath was more to soothe tired, aching muscles.

"Join me." Her voice startled him, not so much the invitation but that she was speaking. Lifting her hands from the water, she reached for his button-down, and he let her return the favor of undressing. She made room and he stepped in after, drawing her between his legs so she could rest her head over his heartbeat. Once comfortable, she began to tell him what she'd seen that day. He did not every ask her to divulge her work, but the disturbing cases she often shared, to ease the pain of seeing what she did. She told him about the pregnant woman and the husband who had come to identify her. The bath was cold by then, and so he stood, helping her out. Bundling her up in a soft towel he hurried her across the cold hallway to their warm room.

"It wasn't you…" he said after helping her into her pyjamas.

"I know." She rubbed her swollen belly, watching their child within kick, feeling the ripples of movement underneath her fingertips. "It could have been, it could have been you coming to see-" He kissed her then, gently.

"It was not," he said firmly. Slowly, she nodded.

"I told Mycroft to send the family flowers…and that I'm taking my maternity leave early." She saw her husband breathe a sigh of relief, and felt warmth seep into her heart.

"Charlotte will be pleased," he excused, knowing she saw.

"So will you."

"Most definitely." He kissed her again, and then her belly, tracing circles. "How was our little miss today?"

"Active, as usual. Stamford let me take breaks regularly, and I had two extra hands at least, it made it a little easier."

"Have you eaten?"

"Mycroft sent meals every few hours," she yawned. "I just want to sleep." He helped her into bed, tucking her legs under the duvet, lingering over the smoothness of her calves, smiling when she blushed. He hesitated for a moment, then promised to return in a moment. Molly had almost fallen asleep when he came back, Charlotte in his arms. Molly brightened, her face shining as their daughter was gently placed beside her. Brushing aside her mousy brown curls, Molly kissed her forehead, tracing the shape of their child's face. Climbing over her, Sherlock put out of the lights and rolled over, legs curling up behind hers. Charlotte curled against her mother, undisturbed by her father moving her out of her own bed.

"It's so quiet tonight," Molly said after a moment, voice heavy with sleep.

"Shall I play something for you?"

"No, thank you, I'd rather you stay here," her free hand grasped his, lacing their fingers together. He kissed her hand, chin against her shoulder. Just a moment more, and she had fallen asleep, and Sherlock was left alone with his thoughts, playing over and over again what Molly had said, that it could have been her on the bus. Sherlock shut his eyes, curling closer to his two best girls, soon to be three. He had never seen the point in dwelling on what might have been. Right now, they were safe, and that was all that mattered. If he could ease Molly's pain by keeping the flat quiet, he would do so, happily. Looking at the beautiful woman in his arms, the knowledge that she was his wife and that the girl curled up with them was their daughter, Sherlock would endure a thousand nights of silence and happily. He'd come to realize that silence could be sweet, it meant happiness, it meant safe and sound, and that was no bad thing.


End file.
